Page 22 of The Devil's Spawn

“But?”

“But I’m hurt as fuck. When will you learn that you need to come tomeabout things? In fact,” he said, walking in a slow circle around me, “I demand it. You come to me, or you get punished. This wouldn’t have happened if you’d trusted me.”

“I know, Master.” I hung my head, misery fisting my gut. “Please don’t take away my phone and car. I’m begging you. I’ll take any other punishment you wish to give.”

“Yes, you will, because you don’t have a choice. As for your privileges, we’ll discuss that later.”

His words crashed over me like a frigid wave, and they were a much-needed wake-up call because everything he gave me was a privilege and not a right. I had none in this marriage—in this fucked up union I agreed to every damn day by staying. There were no victims here—only obsessed people who knew the fucked-uppedness of their relationship and stuck through it anyway.

“Get up.” He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet, and as he escorted me to the other end of the room, near his wall of pain-inducing implements, I experienced a new level of fear. A piece of equipment I hadn’t seen before had been stowed away in the corner of the room, hidden underneath a black cloth.

He whipped the material off and revealed a wooden stockade. “I had this delivered earlier this week while you were out with Simone.”

“What is it, Master?”

“A device designed to position you for anal discipline.”

Holy shit, the thing looked medieval. It had an upright panel that tilted toward the surface at a slight angle. Holes for wrists and ankles sat top and bottom, and a cutout for where I assumed my bottom would fit took up the space front and center. He was going to lock me in that contraption and objectify my ass. Instinctively, I backed up a few feet.

“What are you going to do to me, Master?”

“To put it mildly, I’m going to make itverydifficult for you to sit.”

My body shook, and I tasted blood from gnawing my lower lip.

“Come here,” he ordered.

My feet refused to move, and my heart refused to stop pounding in my ears.

“Baby, don’t fight me on this. You won’t win.” Gage stormed the few feet between us and propelled me forward. His hold on me was harsh and absolute, but his voice had softened, sending a gentle breeze onto my fiery terror.

My submission was the key to everything—freedom, forgiveness, fortitude.

Of my own free will, I slipped my sweaty palm into his and let him help me climb onto his new torture device. “H-how do you want me, Master?”

The sexy timbre of his voice cast me under a spell as he explained how to position myself. I settled horizontally onto the bench, my cheek to the wood, and spread my knees before tucking them underneath my abdomen. The wood was surprisingly smooth against my skin.

“Higher,” he murmured, fitting a palm under my bottom and pushing upward. Then he pulled his hand away and ordered me to scoot all the way back until my ass protruded through the cutout in the wood.

A mechanism sounded, and I gripped the edge of the table as Gage fastened my ankles below my exposed ass and pussy. With surprising gentleness, he pulled my arms behind my back and secured my wrists in the openings situated at the top.

It was a humiliating position, a variation of a kneeling hogtie—only more painful because a single panel of wood trapped my ankles, ass, and wrists behind me. I’d never felt so helpless, so immobile with my bottom exposed to the chilly air of the basement and cheeks spread in preparation for what I knew was going to be an excruciating punishment. My ass was well and truly stuck within the confines of his stockade.

And undoubtedly fucked.

“Before we begin, let’s get something straight, Kayla. Forgiving you earlier this year wasn’t easy, but it was necessary because I refuse to live without you. My brother, on the other hand, will never be forgiven. He knew better than to come back.”

“Please, Master. He’s not—”

“You are not to beg tonight,” Gage interrupted. “You’re going to accept this punishment without a single ‘please’ or ‘stop.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” I did understand. Begging for mercy was not only pointless, but it was humiliating.

“Ian knew the consequences of coming back. His decision to go against my wishes was not in the scope of your control—I understand that—but you will be punished for it regardless.” He walked out of sight, and I felt the heat of his body at my backside.

He slipped two fingers inside me, then forced his thumb into my dry asshole. “This is going to hurt. But I think you need a painful reminder of who you belong to.” He paused a beat. “Who owns you, Kayla?”

“You do, Master.”

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